


Every Possible Way

by genee



Series: Neon [5]
Category: Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossdressing, Dr. K., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-23
Updated: 2008-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genee/pseuds/genee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Frankie answers the door in ratty boxers and an old Rutgers sweatshirt with the neck torn out, a cigarette between her fingers and a smile that almost knocks Gerard off his feet.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Possible Way

Frankie answers the door in ratty boxers and an old Rutgers sweatshirt with the neck torn out, a cigarette between her fingers and a smile that almost knocks Gerard off his feet. She's beautiful like this, she's beautiful like this, too, sexy and unguarded, guitar propped up against the couch cushions, beer bottle in her other hand. "Gee," she says, surprised, maybe, and Gerard runs his fingers through his hair, kisses her cheek, hopes he's not blushing. "C'mon in."

Gerard picked up flowers on his way over, Peruvian lilies, bright and not quite unfurled, planned to say something charming when he handed them to her but before has a chance to say anything at all Frankie reaches around him and closes the door, backs him up against it, kisses him until he's breathless, wordless, his dick hard and Frankie's mouth hot and perfect, murmuring, "Don't crush my flowers," as she drops to her knees.

Gerard blinks, eyes darting around Frankie's tiny apartment, spotless except for Gerard, except for the full ashtray on the coffee table and Frankie's goddamn _mouth_ , all this order and in the middle of it: Frankie and all her contradictions, dangerous and beautiful and even with three locks on her door and one drilled into the floor, Gerard still doesn't think it's enough. He could hear her playing half way down the hall, had stood outside her door and listened for ten minutes before he knocked, wanting to listen longer but wanting to see her more, bitten lips and sore fingers, ink trailing across her pale skin.

This morning Gerard traced that ink with the tip of his tongue, his body curled up behind hers, sleepy still, sweat-slick wherever their bodies touched. Gerard's sheets had smelled a little sour, smoky and unwashed, empty bottles and take-out cartons, books scattered everywhere. He got ready for work with Frankie watching him, tied a messy Windsor knot staring into the mirror behind the door, watching Frankie watch him, naked still, her dick half hard and her voice all kinds of scratchy, saying she wouldn't be back again until Gerard did some motherfucking laundry, cleaned this shithole up.

Gerard had bent over the bed and kissed her then, laughing into her mouth, his hair falling into his face and her hands sliding up under his shirt, warm and calloused. When Gerard left she was in the shower, singing something that would be stuck in Gerard's head for the rest of the day, and Gerard had let his fingers trail over the neat pile of Frankie's clothes, folded on top of his messy dresser, the edge of her panties, the soft slide of her dress. Gerard touched the mass card tucked into the corner of his mirror, touched his shield, his Sig. Outside there was ice in the air, the sun a pale shadow in a cold gray sky, wind whipping around him as he scratched at the jizz on his pant leg, sacrificed the last sip of his coffee to make it go away.

Gerard wants to say, now, right here in Frankie's entry way, _move in with me_ , but he knows it's too soon, knows it's not the right time, Frankie's lips stretched around his dick so pretty, glimpse of her own hard-on poking through her boxers when she shifts, nuzzles closer, slick wet sounds and Gerard so careful, one hand twisted in Frankie's hair, long green stems in the other. Gerard wants to fuck her mouth, wants her to fuck his, wants to spread his legs, wants to bury his face in the soft pillows on her bed, knees bent underneath him and his ass in the air, wants her cock balls-deep in his ass, wants to come just like that, Frankie fucking him hard, her voice in his ear hot and dirty. Gerard bangs his head back against the door, says, "Fuck, Frankie, want you to fuck me," doesn't have time to wonder if asking her to move in with him would have been better before he comes, reckless and messy and Frankie swallows, growls way down low in her throat.

"Jesus, Gee. Fuckin' warn a girl," she says, fingers digging into his hip, her cheek pressed against his thigh, sweaty, flushed, her dick hard still, the dark head of it wet and shiny. Gerard licks his lips, thinks about how he left his weapon at home, how he didn't want to be Detective Way tonight, how he just wanted to be with her here, just be in her space, clean, open, Frankie's eyes glittering up at him even as she stands, her sweatshirt pulled down low. Gerard would apologize, he would, but Frankie says, "Did you mean it?" and licks her lips, tucks her hair behind her ear, chipped polish and torn cuticles and Gerard isn't sure if he should.

He did mean it, though. He meant every fucking word, the ones he said, the ones he didn't.

It'd be easier to lie now, maybe, to ask her to move in with him so she could laugh and turn him down flat, find a vase for her flowers, a bottle, let him kiss her slow and easy, suck at the soft skin at the base of her throat, run his thumbs over her tight little nipples, lick and tease and work them both up again, press her knees back against her chest and lick all the way inside her, taste her everywhere, open her up and fuck her until she forgets he said anything at all, forgets her own name, forgets everything but the thick stretch of Gerard's dick, but Gerard's shrink says grown-ups ask for what they want, and goddamn it, Gerard _wants_ , wants everything about this, about Frankie, wants her in every possible way.

He means to say it, too, just like that, but when he opens his mouth his words slip out in a jumbled rush, "Yeah, I, Frankie, _yes_ \--" and Frankie drags him into a kiss, wraps her hand around his wrist and tugs him through her small apartment, around the garment rack Gerard knows is missing a wheel, hung with dresses in blacks and reds and tiny floral prints, leveled with an old textbook, jeans folded into milk crates, t-shirts, tiny twin bed pushed up against the wall, piled high with pillows and blankets. Frankie looks fierce and happy and wide open, and Gerard holds the flowers out to her finally, smiles with everything he has. "Fuck, Frankie."

Gerard sits on the edge of her bed and she laughs, sets the lilies in the glass of water on her nightstand. "You're not like anyone I've ever met, Gerard Way," she says, standing between his thighs, so close Gerard can smell her, hot and musky, open his mouth and breathe on her, wet spot on her boxers, her dick straining against the cotton. "Most guys want to forget I have a dick, but you like it, don't you? You want it."

"Yes," Gerard says, because he does, he wants it, wants her dick, her laugh, her stupid jokes, wants the bruises on her body and the sound of her voice first thing in the morning, the feel of her skin. He's going to ask her to move in with him soon, he is, but tonight he's asking for this, for her, for everything. "Yes," he says again, "I want that, I want _you_ , Frankie. I just want you."

 

 

\-- End --


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